


Singularity

by seekingjets



Category: Transformers: Prime
Genre: DJ Soundwave, M/M, Not Beta Read, PreWaveWave, laserbeak's creation, prewar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-11-13 23:01:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18040739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekingjets/pseuds/seekingjets
Summary: Soundwave is given a gift.





	Singularity

**Author's Note:**

> A short based on an idea I had. Also I've only seen Prime the cartoon so any additional canon which might influence these events is not included.
> 
> Also I write Soundwave as nonbinary so don't be confused by the language.

Singularity

\---

Music was sacred.

It was amongst this simple truth that Soundwave existed. Refuge found within the harmony as sweet as any partner's guided touch. The rising crescendo of braided tones and overlaid sounds which mimic their spark's intention. Ever since they came online and spoke a language seemingly undiscovered by the rest of their peers, Soundwave knew music would be sacred.

They share the translation with an audience who only pretend to listen, to understand. Listeners minds already too swollen with unnecessary noise that watching them was almost sickening. Bitterly, Soundwave creates. Sends the whisper and whim of electronic undulations and motion through music. Suffers the false spiraling delight of the mechs on the dancefloor. All while they are safe behind their booth, glittering controls unfolding around them. A surveyor of the crowd for which they weave an experience.

Before Soundwave: bodies shift and change at the influence. Hips cradled by hands Soundwave manifests through the beat. The rhythm a sweet curl against their wavering struts. Drawing them together like a string tugged by Soundwave's expert control. Their body pulses in time with the music they create, reflected in the neon dance floor and swarming bodies under the music's suggestion..

Music was sacred. Music manipulated, told truths no voice box would dare and Soundwave watches the crowd confess in the shift of shapes and bleary silhouettes. Their emotions what Soundwave decides simply by denying the drop. Teasing with a creeping beat as obscene as a servo delving between clenched thighs.

But. This crowd will never speak this language. They can only surrender to it. Let it carry them off to a moment of shivering vulnerability. Pressed against their partners or strangers in a dark club. Kaon a crown of sin where they let Soundwave rewrite their sparks just for a moment. Creating a fantasy, ascension, at the ease of elongated digits across a dial.

What does Soundwave get out of this? They don't know yet. But better to speak a foreign language to a room that can't understand, rather than not speak at all.

The set draws near the end as the club rallies for more. Soundwave denies them with a grateful last song. Something to lessen the hold of their music and leave the crowd capable of thought once Soundwave steps down. Accosted by fans and local managers. Shiny mechs who want to play for the Senate, who want to be paid by a household name. Pretty things that smile and offer their attention. Ones that stretch broad in Soundwave's path or ones that sweep sly under spotlights all night. Seeking Soundwave's notice.

All wanting a piece of Soundwave’s wealth or talent. Desiring the open space at their side when Soundwave steps into concert halls or even the lowly crypts of lesser clubs. They wanted nothing to do with the music.

Soundwave has time for none of it, their own music struggling against the casing of their spark. Wanting more. Screaming to be let out until the desperate crowd wears away to rust crumbling under the demand to sway. It causes physical pain, a severance of themself and their most basic desires to weave more of this music so ingrained in their dripping code. It would be careless, and satisfying, to merely give in.

But the pay wasn't worth giving this undeserving audience more of themself.

On the streets of Kaon, spared from the crowd, Soundwave is met with the nature swing and sway of the city. Citizens gathered in the late hour still seeking reprieve from a sour life. Wanting someone to rut across or something to delude themselves into suffering just one more day. The song of Kaon a lonely one which resonated with Soundwave’s spark. An eerie call to the shadows clinging at building edges and the slouching shadows of looming figures in the dark. Empty and hungry, never satisfied, never fed.

Ever performing before a deaf audience, offering their purest creation, wanting to share with anyone who might listen.

Soundwave stands cold and overwhelmed as their music strums along across the inner surface of their body. Serpentine and desperate to be heard - the thought of contacting _him_ speaking to the crowding loneliness against Soundwave’s spark. Forgetting for the briefest of moments that Blaster has not answered their call in many years.

So it is with hazed thoughts that Soundwave almost misses the communicae attempt. The gentle bell against their mind requesting their attention and action. A polite caller leaving a simple message when Soundwave does not answer in time.

 **Patron. I have something for you.** The message reads across the HUD in violet glyphs and no address but Soundwave knows the sender and music draws itself in curious angles across their limbs. Transforming Soundwave’s body in fluid motion before the mind had a chance to accept the invitation.

The summons brings Soundwave to the strange edge of Iacon. An old but grand tower in a distract mostly crumbling beneath the weight of ignorant care. The inner city developing faster than the border could keep up - citizens rushing closer to the crown jewel of Cybertron while leaving the outlands dried and untended. Soundwave purchased most of these old factories and abandoned complexes not so long ago. Finding it suited their needs, like a fledgling gathering empty crates to build a fortress for play. Imagination of youth dependant on the singular individual whom Soundwave handed over the keys and told to enjoy.

They land on a broad balcony of what should have been a luxury estate - now rewired and cryptic with strange mechanics and a clunky industrial shell. Buildings woven together and hammered into something new much like scrap metal recycled into armor of the gladiators. They land and enter, granted access by thick doors which bow to their pulsed command.

Inside is an ode to mania. To cluttered wires and stacked machinary dissected and laid across the once-beautiful structure at a madmech’s needs. The cramped space spilling with glass chambers and humming equipment. Gurgling beakers and coffin-shaped cabinets glowing a terrible color beneath meters and devices guarding them. The building itself gutted and congested with the macabre chaos of such engineering feats that soar over Soundwave’s understanding…A sane mech might look upon such turmoil with tension and fear for their own safety.

Soundwave only saw an aria.

A performance, defined in the scuffling of computers chirping in a far corner. The surge and vibration of power elegantly parted across the laboratory - the image itself a solo voice delivering a melodic sound. Music to which Soundwave almost longs to sway as their own spark tries to match the rhythm to sing along.

“Patron.” A simple voice calls from the side, Soundwave turning their attention to the composer as Shockwave stands amongst his opera. “Thank you for joining me on such short notice.”

Shockwave does not summon them often, only when funds are low and Soundwave usually refills their accounts with the smallest wave of their thoughts. Accepting the hermit-like preferences of Shockwave’s art. Soundwave does not demand much in terms of attention and in exchange Shockwave is left to create, to build and discover as he sees fit. Answering requests from his sponsor when Soundwave had need and even then Soundwave had put little restraints on their kept associate.

Soundwave’s home was a room with little more than a dispensary and a recharge slab - they had credits to burn.

Soundwave responds in the tilt of their helm and Shockwave approaches at the sign of curiosity. Hefty body moving slow and certain, creating a pleasing tempo for Soundwave’s observation as the scientist makes his way across. Pausing at a darkened column of glass and wires which whirls to life at his approach. Soundwave joining, watching the gentle flickers of the back ornamentation and antenna adorning Shockwave’s helm - focusing on typing with the dominant servo.

The column begins to shift in color, liquid behind glass shifting. Becoming less opaque as Shockwave initiates some protocol. Pressure releases and something inside takes shape. Angular form catching Soundwave’s attention enough that they can turn their gaze towards the strange presentation rather than the static of apprehension coming off Shockwave’s field.

A folding of geometric shapes held aloft in the chamber, unadorned with any signifying colors it seemed almost anticlimactic at first. Soundwave turning their helm to try and understand the significance of well shaped metal in glass, sending a pulse of curiosity towards Shockwave…And the thing inside responds.

“I call it Laserbeak.” Shockwave announces at Soundwave pushes against the glass with elongated digits. Sending another curious pulse and watching a bladed panel waver, answer back with it’s own low hum. Mimicking Soundwave’s own pattern.

_What._

“Your last request, though merely cosmetic, involved integrating the cadence of your spark to initiate pulse lights across your form.” It was simply a cosmetic procedure, something which made Soundwave feel more connected to the performance. Blending their form within the rise and fall of the music produced. “It brought me to a certain familiarity with your pattern and I had an idea.”

This. Soundwave motions to the thing inside, copying and now reiterating the gentle signs of Soundwave’s intimate communication with it. Like a tender stroke across a fragile cheek.

“Laserbeak was built around your coding, what I could translate into an appropriate system.” Shockwave explains, singular optic bright in the gloomy laboratory of flashing readouts and things scratching at glowing tanks. “I don’t know if I would consider it sentient, but it is made of you---”

The corded tendril lashes out from Soundwave’s body, pincer grasping a sturdy fold of Shockwave’s armor and thrusting his greater frame across the lab. Smashing the bulky form into a kinder surface, hurting only as much as Soundwave wants it to hurt. The scientist giving a low grunt from unseen speakers as he is pinned with pedes just barely scraping the floor. Not fighting, no struggle in limbs so effortlessly held by additional tendrils that keep Shockwave like a specimen on a dart board.

“You don’t like it?”

_Why._

“Why?” Shockwave turns his helm, optic shuttering in dissection of the question. “Because I could.”

Despite Shockwave's attempts, he still emotes. The smallest tremble of the antenna framing the empty face, the softest exhale of systems startled in disappointment as pride is watered down in Soundwave's reaction. Stiffening against the slither of mechanical tendrils wrapping his broad form. Snaking a loop at the small waist and binding Shockwave to Soundwave's grasp as they draw the scientist in for observation.

Just at the edges of Soundwave's existence they can feel the thing, Laserbeak, rattling in newfound life. The sharp angled thing stretching against its confines and seeking itself in Soundwave's pattern. A shared pulse and an echoed song.

 _Why?_ Soundwave asks once more and there is a thrill in Shockwave to be handled so expertly, not for the first time amusing Soundwave of the mech's quirks.

“Because I couldn't get a tune out of my head.” He answers with a smile sung only in the swing of his voice while the orchestra of intricate machines booms around them.

_Do you still hear it?_

“Louder now than ever.” Shockwave pretends to be annoyed but certainly he is as wrapped in fascination as the tangible hold. Eventually lowering Shockwave until heavy pedes meet the laboratory floor and the scientist chooses to remain near. One singular tendril still wrapped about the other's waist, clutching tight.

 _More._ Soundwave requests and motions back towards Laserbeak now crying for its future host still consumed with the radiating excitement from their charming pet.

A duet blossoming in the back of Soundwave's thoughts.

“How do you feel about felines, Patron?”

 


End file.
